Infliction
by FallenTwilight
Summary: Anakin survived Myrkr. Captured by the Yuuzhan Vong, Anakin Solo must fight against the Shapers, who seek to turn him into a hybrid of Dark Jedi and Yuuzhan Vong. Will he rise to the challenge or will the Jedi fall prey to one of their own?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I do not own SW. I'm just making a little castle in George's sandbox.

**A/N**: I, like many others, after reading Star by Star, chucked it at the wall in anger, and was heart broken to see my favorite character, Anakin Solo, kick the bucket. Since I've just about lost complete hope of him coming back in some way, shape or form, I've written this to console myself and I hope you enjoy it. What would happen if, instead of Anakin dying, he was captured by the Yuuzhan Vong and shaped like Tahiri was? And then let loose on the Jedi Order? Oh, all the mayhem he could cause:) I'll try to update frequently enough, based upon reviews and if anyone even likes it. Critique (be brutally honest) is greatly appreciated but please, no flaming. Please don't be shy! R/R, please!

_**Infliction**_

Anakin came up for air and his ragged breaths filled his belly with fire. He took ten heartbeats to calm his breathing and twice that attempting to dull the pain his ruptured spleen was causing.

Thinking of his wound brought his memory back in sharp focus.

He remembered a series of pictures and feelings. A voxyn's throaty growl, a ticking blade, his last command to his strike team to leave him to his fate and destroy the queen; a mass of Yuuzhan Vong warriors, too many to fight on his own, but determined to buy with his sacrifice ample time for his brother and friends to complete their mission.

He recalled feeling relieved, just before the end, that his burden of guilt for the deaths of comrades and friends would soon trouble him no longer, and that he was melting back into the maelstrom of the Force. His body dissolving into pure, light side energy.

He remembered smiling as a Yuuzhan Vong warrior felled him with an unanticipated amphistaff strike.

Then: nothing.

What was going on? Was he even alive? He didn't remember dying, just a melancholy feel of departing.

He decided to open his eyes but found them welded shut by a layer of battle grime and eye gunk.

He reached up an arm to rub it away but found his arms and his legs similarly bound by blorash jelly.

Ah. That explained a lot. He was captured. A prisoner of war.

Anakin blinked a few times, and finally managed to open his sore and blood shot eyes.

Only to get a good look at the ground.

He attempted to move his head but felt a shooting pain rush up from his spine and almost cried out but stifled it in time by biting on his already bloody lip.

He delved in the Force to see what damage repair he could do for his wound. Save for a trance, he didn't know what else he could do. And a trance could take days. Anakin wasn't sure if he would survive the next couple of hours, let alone days.

He resigned himself to give it a try, at least, when he heard the rough, guttural tones of conversing Yuuzhan Vong.

Anakin made himself still and closed his eyes; feigning sleep.

He understood some of their speech. As strange as it sounded, Tahiri had been giving him lessons before they departed to Myrkr and Anakin was a good student. He would learn anything that would help him better understand the enemy.

They had to be stopped.

They entered the room, and a deep voice gargled a question that ended with the word: _Jeedai. _He heard his name a few times, and Jacen's and he thought he might have recognized the Yuuzhan Vong term for twins.

How long had he been out for? What was going on outside of his little cell? Was the strike team successful? Were they alive? Or had Anakin sent his siblings and friends on a suicide mission doomed from the start?

If they were dead, Anakin would never forgive himself and he would let the Yuuzhan Vong kill him because he could not escape and return to his family with that guilt on his shoulders. They would hate him and Anakin would be alone. Death was a more enticing fate than that.

The pair of Yuuzhan Vong abruptly stopped talking. Anakin willed his mind and body quiet and breathed silently through his nose.

"Open your eyes, _Jeedai_," the deep throated one spat, "We know you are awake."

Anakin obeyed, curious to get to know his surroundings. He allowed his blue eyes to take in the sharp contrast of a scarred warrior's face and the slim profile of a shaper, her headdress writhing in delight. The room was quaint and living instruments that served varying and very unfamiliar purposes were placed sporadically around the villa-like area.

"Oh, how I've waited for this moment," the shaper seethed.

Anakin peered closely at the shaper's features; Sallow blue skin, sloping forehead, jaded, lavender eyes, and scarred lips. His attention was sharply drawn back up to the symbols tattooed on her forehead.

_Tahiri!_

Anakin's breath caught in a strangled gasp. He flashed upon an image of a blond willowy girl shaped with a mutilated, dark side warrior. The Tahiri from his dream. But it couldn't be…he had prevented that future from arriving. He had destroyed Riina and Tahiri had emerged victorious.

Anakin took in the symbols again. They bared a similar likeness to the ones etched on Tahiri's forehead, the ones she refused to remove. Anakin had an eerie feeling about this Yuuzhan Vong.

"Don't you remember, _Jeedai_ Solo?"

Anakin racked his memory.

"Nen Yim." Anakin attempted a mocking smile. "I see you've come up in the galaxy. Now, instead of kidnapping and torturing Jedi children you're chasing wayward apprentices from killing your rabid pets. What, the Warmaster could not find a more practical way to make use of your talents?"

Anakin could have been taunting the hull of the Millennium Falcon for all the response he received. Nen Yim proved invisible to any jab Anakin could throw her way.

A coy smile lit Nen Yim's features. "So, my creation is creating trouble for the _Jeedai_, I trust."

Anakin choked back his black anger at this knowledge. It didn't really surprise him. Nen Yim _had_ been busy in the last year. "Oh, the voxyn?" he laughed and ignored the molten agony consuming his stomach, "I seem to remember my strike team felling quite a few on our stroll through your worldship."

The warrior so far had stood stoic and silent but at the young Jedi's brash comment couldn't help but add, "And I recall many of your Jeedai impaling themselves willingly on our amphistaffs, infidel. Soon the Warmaster will see the Jeedai eradicated, and we will cleanse the filth and impurities from the galaxy."

The youngest Solo kept his face impassive but inwardly bristled from the blow. Were his friends alive? Were they prisoners like him? Nom Anor and his warriors had been trying to capture some of them alive. Did they succeed? No, Jedi on his strike team would have gone willingly.

Anakin stretched out in the Force, and weak though he was, attempted to make a connection with his siblings. To assure them that he was still alive; to assure him that they were alive and unhurt.

Nen Yim, somehow sensing his Force usage, shook her head. "Oh, their will be none of that, _Jeedai_ Solo," she muttered softly and pressed the palm of her left hand onto the pulse of a living instrument by her side, it's tendril rays sinking into the sensitive flesh of her palm. Anakin immediately felt shards of icy crystals freeze his veins and fiery molten heat surge through his fingertips and toes.

"And besides," she continued, as if they were sharing a pleasant conversation under the stars, "the voxyn queen is in no danger. I have it on good authority that your companions have been defeated, each one fighting to the death, which can be commended, all true warriors to the last."

The warrior, who Anakin assumed was there for her protection, nodded gravely.

"Though I would have liked to get my shaper's hand on Jeedai Tahiri again. Without you to rescue her she would have made a useful tool in bringing the Truth to this galaxy."

If Anakin hadn't been so weak, he would have done something rash. As it were, all he could do was draw his eyebrows together and close in on himself, letting an inner pain even greater than his numerous flesh wounds numb his core.

Gone.

They were all gone…and the mission had been his idea. Their deaths were completely his fault.

"No," Anakin whispered in denial, "it can't be true." He set his jaw and directed his attention to Nen Yim. "I don't believe you."

The warrior barked a laugh. "Fool!"

"It is irrelevant if you believe me or not, _Jeedai_," Nen Yim said, "soon _I_ will be your only Truth and your continued existence will be dependant on me."

Anakin lifted his chin. "Then kill me. I'm not afraid to die."

"You mistake my intentions. Soon you will not recognize yourself, Anakin Solo. The young idealistic Jeedai will be no more and the creature that will rise in your place will not be the likes of anything our peoples have seen. You will be the instrument of the Jedi Order's death, Solo. The voxyn weakened you, but your betrayal will break your friends."

An unpreventable shudder ran down from Anakin's shoulder blades. They were planning to do to him what they had tried to do to Tahiri. And this time, there was no hope of rescue. His friends could be dead, or stranded on the worldship, or captured like him.

He was alone.

He had been so ready to die moments ago, but now, in light of the enemy's plans, shaped his resolve into a pointed tool of steely determination. He swallowed and vowed to keep his voice steady. 'You failed with Tahiri and you will fail with me." He took a slow, calming breath. "And if I ever get the chance, Nen Yim, I will send you to join your heretical Master's side. And you better pray that your "gods" have mercy on you because I won't."

Nen Yim's eyes widened and she pressed her palm into the tendril ray again.

"Rest, Anakin. Heal your wounds. Soon you will be the harbinger of destruction to everything you once held dear."

She looked kindly on his writhing body. "The life you led before is but a shadow of the greatness and glory you will achieve."

Anakin was in no condition to answer.

He was busy learning the lessons of pain.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Disclaimer: _**I still don't own Star Wars and I never will. I'm just a poor and penniless student writing this for the fun of it.

_**A/N:**_

Thanks for the reviews everyone! You really made my day. :) Sorry this update was kind of long in coming. I find it hard to write the Yuuzhan Vong and I've been really busy. The chapters might take a few days to come but I hope you guys will stick with it.

_**Infliction**_

_**Chapter Two**_

Nen Yim watched carefully for any signs that the young Jeedai would awaken. She had hooked him up to many neural pathway detectors to help her understand the miraculous phenomenon taking place in front of her.

After their first discussion, Anakin Solo had lost consciousness and since then, had not risen from his self induced sleep.

That had been a standard week ago.

The amazing thing, Nen Yim surmised, was his uncanny ability at healing himself. The Yuuzhan Vong had many servants which could induce healing at increasing rates but this was far beyond anything they could do.

The Jeedai Solo should be dead, or near death, and the Yuuzhan Vong would have healed him so they could further their own purposes. But Anakin Solo seemed eager to begin his transformation. He was doing the healing himself—and doing it quicker and more thoroughly than they could even expect!

If their were one pitfall to this method of healing it would be that the person was unaware of the outside world and surroundings.; Which was most likely the reason why Anakin Solo hadn't fallen into one while his strike team was being hunted down by Nom Anor. He didn't have a safe place to do it.

She watched as the cells clustered around the wound, destroying the foreign organisms and promoting growth. His many wounds were mending before her eyes.

She had to admit that this ability was impressive. She wondered if Anakin could explain it to her in greater detail. Nen Yim's thirst for knowledge could never be quenched.

This was why Nen Yim was a Master Shaper. She did not become one to destroy life. She summoned the feeling of joy and discovery she had first come to feel when she stepped onto a living surface for the first time.

She wanted to create and manipulate life to make life easier and more enjoyable and make scientific-_at this time thought heretical_-advances.

Her thin lips grimaced.

The Yuuzhan Vong would need to win the war for that to happen.

And Nen Yim would do anything to help her people.

Even destroy the pathetic, insignificant life that slept before her. She would shape him, and he would be the downfall to the New Republic.

And after everything that Anakin and his little companions had done to disrupt her life. The girl Tahiri removing Mezhaan Kwaad's beautiful head from her shoulders, her friends in the _Banir Muur_ suffocating on a dying worldship because Jedi had destroyed the new ones that could have saved them.

Countless friends and ally's dying in combat.

Dying at the edge of a lightsaber's blade.

It would happen no more.

The weapon of a Jedi would now turn on its owner.

And Nen Yim prayed to the gods-_if they even existed-_ to help her deal out her vengeance.

She went to retrieve her quasa and dove her mind into the countless protocols found in each cortex. She eagerly anticipated the end result of her experimentation.

It was to be kept completely secret.

Whether this project resulted in failure or success, all other parties involved would be silenced. In the end, perhaps Nen Yim would allow their deaths to be Anakin Solo's (or Farooq Naan, as he would soon be known as) first cold blooded murders. It was easy task to mark the beginning of a life of bloodshed and betrayal he would soon lead. She would have to erase every shed of compassion and kindness and selflessness that had been bred in him since birth. After Nen Yim was through with him, all that would remain would be his immense power and a thirst for the Jedi's extinction.

No word of Anakin Solo's survival could be leaked. He had to be thought dead by the galaxy. She had shaped a lifeless clone bearing Solo's appearance earlier from a sample of his spilled blood. She had hurried through it, so it hadn't born an exact resemblance to him but she was sure it would be good enough to fool even his closest friends and family.

By Lord Shimmra's bidding and Tsavong Lah's absolute insistence, Anakin Solo would not yet be ritually scarred. After his inner transformation was complete, Anakin would return to the New Republic, hailed as a Hero, inexplicably escaping Yuuzhan Vong imprisonment after more than a year of intense torture.

His family would kiss him, his friends would embrace him, and Anakin Solo's smile would appear genuine even relieved, and his excitement would be real.

And the former Jeedai would slaughter them all.

Master Shaper Nen Yim could not contain her smile of elation at the thought. Supreme Overlord Shimmra's new regime could begin with a flourish.

And Nen Yim would be then revealed and hailed as her people's savior.

She then could only hope that Shimmra would cast aside the gods aside as the false idols they truly were…

But that was a hope she wouldn't hold her breath on and one that she would never speak aloud or her life would be forfeit.

And she had too many tasks unfinished to spend her life so foolishly.

She heard the entrance to her laboratory open with the sound of smacking lips.

"Master Yim?" called out an inquisitive voice.

Nen Yim turned to face the new arrival.

"What is it, Adept?" she asked wearily. While questions were not frowned upon, this young thing had made them her stock in trade. She never stopped talking about one thing or another, a near endless supply of syrupy chatter.

Probably noticing the tiredness in the Master Shaper's tone the Adept raised her eyes quivering in her bones.

"I come bearing the Warmaster's villip."

"Oh, yes, of course." The Warmaster had promised to inform her if they happened to capture more Jedi Knights for her experiments.

She took the villip from the adept's shaking hands and excused her.

Touching a delicate finger to a sensitive nub on the villip's side, it morphed into a shape bearing Tsavong Lah's resemblance, but only head and shoulders.

Nen Yim inclined her head in greeting and submission. "I have eagerly expected your villip, Great One." She did not yet raise her eyes. Though she wasn't technically his inferior,-they were of different castes- the Supreme Overlord wanted her to maintain a pretense of chain of command and Nen Yim reluctantly played her part well.

"Look upon me, my servant." Tsavong Lah's smile reeked of superiority but Nen Yim wisely held her tongue.

Nen Yim raised her eyes to the familiar scarred features of the Warmaster and waited for him to speak first.

How goes the Jeedai project?"

"It is progressive, Warmaster. I created a clone of young Solo and had some warriors place it in the mortuary with the rest of our dead. These infidels are predictable, they will seek to find and return the body of their comrade home."

"You are wise, Master Yim." Tsavong Lah displayed his needle-pointed teeth. Was it a smile, Nen thought, or a grimace? Through the villip it was hard to make out. "Just hours ago, the Jeedai stole back the clone, and caused quite an uproar, just as you predicted."

"Then all is well, Warmaster?" There was something he wasn't saying.

"Nom Anor has been given his final chance, tracking down these Jeedai. And he is failing. As we speak, the Jeedai are fleeing in his ship, _The Kstaar_."

Nen Yim's thoughts worked at blinding speeds. They successfully stole and were operating a Yuuzhan Vong vessel! The idea was absurd! No infidel should be able to summon the empathy needed to bond with the ship.

She's think about it later, the Warmaster was still speaking.

"--and that infidel Jaina Solo renamed it _The Trickster_. She insults us blatantly with her blasphemy."

Nen Yim knew what the escape of the Twins could mean for the Warmaster though she wasn't foolish enough to say them aloud. The Warmaster's newly transplanted radank claw was eating away at the flesh of his arm. He had promised the gods the twins. If he could not deliver and his infection continued further up his arm, then his station as Warmaster would be compromised and he would spend the rest of his life cast away as a humiliated Shamed One.

Cautiously, "Both Jacen Solo and his sister escaped, then?"

The Great warrior's villip twisted into a look of disgust. "Nom Anor, the fool, knows how to leave a mission half accomplished. One of his associates captured one half of the twin pairing. Jacen Solo is now our prisoner."

Nen Yim's eyes lit up. She could imagine the possibilities of shaping both the Solo brothers. What a downfall to the moral of the New Republic when sons of the ruling states most prominent family turn traitor on the whole lot of them! Oh, it would be a joyous accomplishment. "Then I'm to have another Jeedai to work with?"

The Warmaster's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Unfortunately not. Vergere has requested a chance to turn him to the True Way." His expression certainly conveyed his distaste and confidence in that idea. "If she fails, she will be all yours, my pet.

"Work on the young Solo, Nen Yim. I want to be informed of all progress, no matter how seemingly insignificant, am I clear? I will not suffer disappointment lightly."

His threats didn't scare Nen Yim. She was on loan to him from the Supreme Overlord. He could not harm her and hope to leave. She would do her best; she did not want to disappoint her Master, Lord Shimmra.

Nen Yim inwardly sighed, knowing she would have to placate the Warmaster through many more conversations. "Of course, Warmaster. It shall be as you will it."

At his bidding, she went on to explain Solo's astounding healing process and her plans for his future.

When his villip finally inverted after over an hour, Nen Yim had a throbbing headache.

She needed to go over some formulas and see if Solo was awake.

Then the work would commence.

Nen Yim hurried to her laboratory. She couldn't wait to begin.

I hope I didn't write Nen Yim too bad. I'll have to brush up on the Edge of Victory books again. Now do what you do best and Review!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**A/N**-I know it has been awhile since I worked on this, but I thought I'd give it a go again. I'm not making any promises; life's been hectic but I'm going to try to work on this story again. With that in mind read on….and don't forget to review. ;)

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"Tell me your name, creature."

The man paused, wondering why he had to think so deeply about so simple a question. It was right on the tip of his tongue, hovering just out of sight. It should be second nature. He shouldn't have to _think_.

And about the moment when he remembered and his mouth opened to say it, he felt a dull throbbing in the back of his head and he suddenly forgot.

_Who am I?_

_What is my name?_

"Don't make me ask you again, creature," demanded the sharp voice.

He didn't know who she was but she had made it plain that she wasn't one to be defied. Her voice was a delicate, dry, monotone that scratched at his ears.

His thick brows frowned and he closed his eyes. He had just had it. What was it again? _A_-something, he was sure. "Hold on a sec," he muttered, finding a reservoir of boldness deep down. He didn't want to answer. He didn't want to be cooperative. "I'm thinking."

He tried to think faster. They didn't like when he brooded too long. They thought it was dangerous. And what ever they saw in him that caused them to be afraid, they wanted to hurt.

The shaper, Nen Yim, he now remembered, made a gesture and a name floated to the surface, written in fiery incantations on the inside of his eyelids.

_Farooq Naan._

That didn't sound quite right. It had the ring of familiarity to it but it didn't seem to…_belong_.

When he thought of himself, _Farooq Naan_ was not the name that came to mind.

"My name is….Farooq Naan." he admitted reluctantly. The alien woman nodded, as if pleased. But it didn't _feel_ right.

He fidgeted in his restraints as fear set in. Why could he not recall his identity? Not knowing caused his head to ache and he recoiled from his damaged psyche as if he had been physically beaten. He felt worn.

He looked down at his bare chest, in an attempt to distract himself, and saw that the wound was mottled by a yellowish hue. It was almost completely healed, and he inwardly smiled. Without the Force he would have been a goner.

And his captor, Nen Yim, was so intrigued at his rate of healing. She was getting so upset, and deep down, he got some kind of satisfaction for denying her willing answers to her questions.

He knew they were trying to shape him, to turn him into a Dark Jedi warrior who would carry out their biddings but they didn't know how deep these dangerous waters they were playing in ran. He was powerful, and if the moral restraints that bound him were cut free all hell would break loose. He would not be controlled by the Yuuzhan Vong. Nothing would control him. They wanted him to destroy the Jedi but if he fell than the bloodshed would not end there.

His lips firmed. He would never give in. He was strong and getting stronger every day. And if his will proved to be too fragile to withstand the torture then he would kill himself before allowing them to transform him into a nightmare.

…but the loss of his true name. That was unsettling. Could Nen Yim just pick at and dissect his thoughts and memories at random and delete or add information? He would never know which memories were real or which had been implanted. He was capable of eradicating the Jedi and he wouldn't even know it.

His whole life was over. They could take his memories of his family, his rigorous Jedi training, even how he felt about Tahiri. They could take it all away.

"Farooq Naan."

With each repetition, the name sounded more right. Three syllables that meant: him. His identity. I am Farooq Naan, he thought.

Nen Yim spoke up. "Do you remember your crèche mother, Farooq? Did she ever tell you what your name meant?"

"No. I didn't have a crèche mother. I grew up on Coruscant with my parents and my sister and my brother." As his recollection became clear, other things did as well. He frowned. Things were changing so fast. It was confusing. "My name…it's A-anakin. Anakin Solo!" He grinned in victory. There was hope for him yet.

Nen Yim howled in frustration as she again, for what seemed the millionth time, touched the tendril ray.

Anakin braced himself for pain but surprisingly none reached him.

A thin, whispery cloud of papery nothingness dazed his mind and he paused. "Wait. That's not right. I grew up on a poor, cold worldship called _Blazing Glory."_

Exactly.

That was the truth.

For a certainty.

_Why couldn't I remember before? Is my crèche' mother still alive_, he thought? Has she embraced death? Neither option fazed him.

"And?" prompted Nen Yim.

"And," he said, with absolute conviction, "my name is Farooq Naan."

In a small, dark part of his mind, a trickle of nervousness beading its way through his being and rested between his shoulder blades, barely noticeable.

Oh no, thought Farooq Naan, this isn't good.

"I'm so confused," he groaned, his eyes closing in distress.

"Yes," the Master shaper sympathized, "but soon that will change. You were sent as a child to the enemy as a spy, to gather information, to be taught in their warrior traditions, so that now, with your glorious, successful return we can reeducate you in our ways and you will become the ultimate warrior."

She gave him a pointed look.

"That is what you want, isn't it?"

Farooq thought for a moment. "It is my greatest hope," he muttered uncertainly but tried to sound convincing, he didn't want Nen Yim to have any doubts about him. If he pleased her maybe he could someday emerge out of this torture chamber. Maybe he could escape, Farooq Naan thought excitedly. _I will break free from these restraints. And wipe that smug smile off the shapers delicate face._

She would tremble in wake of the being she created. He was Yuuzhan Vong. He would introduce her to the gods that gave her the shaping skill, and kill her using all his pent up fury, using his own gift from the gods-_this Force_. He would murder her and then set himself onto the path of redemption, the trail that would ultimately lead to the destruction of the Jedi abomination.

"I am so uncertain. When will me reeducation be complete?"

"In time," clucked the shaper. "You must endure the pain for a time." She paused. "But what is pain to the great and soon to be glorified Farooq Naan?"

Farooq straightened his spine a fraction and pursed his whispery thin human lips. He could only nod in agreement.

Farooq pondered things.

Nen Yim soon noticed one of her shaping creatures vibrating in alarm. "What is it, _Farooq_," she placed unnecessary stress on his name. "That you want to ask?"

"Will I remain in this pale sallow unscarred skin for long?"

Nen Yim gave him a cursory glance, subjecting him to her shaper's glare. It made him wary.

"Upon your _triumphant _return to your people, then you will be ritually scarred. But only then."

Farooq considered this and nodded. It was fair.

He clenched a fist. He would do everything in his power to attain victory.

Nothing, not even the master of all the Jedi, would stop him.

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Now do what you do best. ; )


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